Subreality
by Cadence
Summary: Strobe lights flashing and Paradise playing in the background. Meryl and Knives exchanging soulful glances while Vash harasses the author?!? Welcome to the Subreality Saloon.


But first, explanation: The concept of the Subreality café is, shockingly enough, not mine. Brilliance like this can only come from someone actually brilliant, ie not me. It's the concept of Kielle (kielle@subreality.com) from over in the Marvel comicdom, who I thank very much for the reminder now I can point people in your direction. But anyway it's basically a hang out for all the fictives to go to when not acting in fan fiction. Except that it isn't acting, it's the character's actual life being written out. Anyway, they meet with alternate versions of themselves from different authors and stories in addition to the authors and have fun in most cases. The canon versions are not allowed. At least, these are the rules that were in place the last time I check (a long, long time ago).

Subreality

The overall effect of the Trigun Sub-Reality saloon is a little on the disorienting side. In lateral divisiveness, the bar-cum-club has been partitioned through the lighting. One section is true to its theme, classically stylized lanterns and flickering oil lamps. A wind outside, possibly only an imagined result of the Old West atmosphere, hisses softly against the swinging wood of the doors and abrades the windows with barely audible scratches. A nondescript bar maid flirts instinctively with the suspendered man wiping down the bar in time to the lonely guitar music playing anachronistically on the juke box.

Paradise, if I'm not mistaken, actually. The dejected look of the nearest Wolfwood offers up validation of my ears. I attempt to smile reassuringly at the miserable priest, but if the blood seeping through his shirt is any indication, that won't be much help.

Hell! What a depressing way to start a story!! This a Sub-Reality fic, for Christ's Sake!

Of course, it's not particularly shocking that my tone has been swayed in that direction, considering the side I'm sitting on. Aside from the two Midvalleys who've abandoned their dates (Wolfwood and Legato respectively) to make out with each other, the Traditional half of the saloon (as I have so imperious declared it) is pretty dead. That dying Wolfwood there, a moping Meryl, and a equally dejected Vash comprise the occupants of the round and discouragingly small tables that seem to be the only appropriate furniture.

Everyone else has migrated or, in many cases, dashed to the aforementioned Other Side. A strobe light flashes at a speed that I suspect to induce seizures. Man made fog rolls around the dancing, chatting, and fu . . . er, _kissing_ patrons; strangely, it halts flat against the not-so invisible line that separates the two areas. A muted rhythm manages to escape the confining morass of bodies and light, something techno that I've probably recently deemed terribly fitting to the universe.

Sparing a backward glance back at the two Midvalleys, who seem to be at the threshold between petting and groping, I mutter to myself, "He's such a whore."

And to my companion. Did I forget to mention my companion? He's a Vash, unwritten because, really, I'm pretty selfish and don't want to share him. Or to have people think I'm anymore fangirlish than they already do. Hee, most people have _no_ idea. Or very little. Or . . . Just let me have my delusions, damnit!!!

Alright, then. My companion, with a rather unstable but sexy as all hell glint in his eyes, agrees, "Indeed. Between, they are unworthy of our grace."

Ah, he's so frickin' insane. I mean that, literally. Beautiful and deadly, he's as unscarred as his days with Her, for whom he kills. Blonde hair is spiked out in chaotic directions and a thin red cord hangs around his neck - not quite a choker. It is all he owes to color, a black wife-beater molded comfortably to his skin before blending into his black leather pants. I swear, all Vashes are into leather, not just my so-spiffy crazy one.

Speaking of, I think I see another approaching, with a rather disgruntled Meryl and Knives in tow. I blink a moment, trying to place him. Hard to tell if he's one of mine, since he's not noticeably different from most in the room. However the Meryl and Knives are slightly different, showing uncharacteristic ease with each other. Yup, they're mine. And, presuming the Vash knows that, he probably wouldn't want to talk with (or rant at) me if he weren't as well.

I sigh. The Vash slants a disgusted look at his crazy reflection before jerking his head back toward the . . . er _happy couple_, "Care to explain this?"

I shrug, "You knew it would happen sooner or later."

"I did?" he grinds out, arms crossed.

My Vash smirks coolly at the newcomers, arrogant amusement passing briefly over his features. I ignore him, he'll be no help this time.

"Yes, or you should have at least. You _know_ that most of what I've been writing has been severely out of character for me."

The Meryl raises an eyebrow, "Oh, I thought that was us."

Damn smarmy character. Why do I make everyone smarmy? I rub at my temples, gazing down into my half-unfizzed Sprite and wishing it were alcoholic. Out of curiosity, why the hell am I obeying that law? There's isn't another freakin' bartender in fiction who cares about underage drinking except this one. Damnit.

"Come on. You guys have all spent at least a little time in my head," the Knives and Meryl nod grudgingly and I fix the Vash with a pointed stare, "You more than anyone else. You're a drabble-Vash, if I'm not mistaken."

He continues glaring, which I take as confirmation as I continue, "You know I consider all the drabbles that don't contradict canon to themselves, so you've been around a while. You know the reason why I spell Milly with a Y."

"Yeah, yeah. Cause you once wrote a story where a girl named Milly, spelled I E, killed her fiancé with sunglasses." He tips his spiky head toward me, granting me that small victory. "But that isn't what I'm here about!"

I smile, "Yes, it is and you know it." He shakes his head fiercely in denial. I think there might be the beginnings of tears in his eyes. The Meryl and Knives shift boredly. "I may like romance and fluff, but I've always enjoyed angst and darkness much, much more. It was only a matter of time before I started doing things like pairing Meryl and Knives together."

I shrug, taking a cheerful swig of my Sprite, "Really, you're lucky you've gotten as much as you have."

"B-but, I heard that you might give them," he gestures unhappily at the pair who've moved even closer together, "a _lemon scene_."

Oh no. Who told him that? If it was Wolfwood . . . I - I'll stop neglecting him just so that I can beat the crap out of him!! Stupid priest.

The Vash sitting at my table leans forward, suddenly re-interested in the conversation. Y'know, he's really cute when he's plotting something.

Anyway. I glance around furtively, for once glad that no one on this side is capable of listening in, "Quiet. Don't spread that around. If people know, I might actually have to deliver!"

"Hmph. You haven't ever even _thought_ of writing a lemon scene for Meryl and me," he pouts.

"Hey! I have too! I just . . . I just," I blush, staring at the pretty designs my fingers are tracing in the ring of moisture my soda has left. Really nice designs actually. That one looks like a gun, and that one looks like a cloud and . . . I glance up on the off chance he's gone. Nope. If I tilt my head, that one kinda looks like flugelhorn. Weird.

"Just what?"

My blush deepens. Why oh why did I come here? I could have gone to the Writer's Saloon, but _oh no_ Cadence wants to bond with her _characters_. When did I get so stupid?

I hear a foot tapping. My Vash suddenly takes hold of my chin, tilting my eyes up to him, "My Lady, I'd like to know as well."

If he wants to know, there is no way in _hell _I'm gonna . . . Giggle, he's so _pretty_.

Grinning up into those too perfect aqua eyes, I declare to him and the others, "I just didn't know who'd be on top!"

Vash makes a very un-manly noise of outrage. Knives tilts his head, "She has a point."

The sputtering outlaw turns on his brother, "Stop being right!"

My Vash - mine, mine, mine! - strokes my jaw thoughtfully for a moment, tapping me condescendingly on the nose, "Why you little hentai."

I shake off his grip, "Hey! You know I don't use Japanese in my fics! I don't know the language and I'm not gonna use it til I do."

Vash continues to be offended for a moment before pausing to question his brother, "I thought she'd had Wolfwood call me Tongari in a couple of fics before."

"Yeah, I thought so, too."

"Jeez, what a hypocrite."

"Yeah."

My fist slams into the table, silencing both and threatening to topple my drink, "I like Tongari better than Needle-Noggin, okay?!? And that was before we knew how they were even going to translate it!"

"Oh."

"Okay."

They both nod thoughtfully - Damn well better, I have control over them - before Knives returns to his contemplation of Meryl's hair and Vash starts wailing again.

"Vash, get a hold of yourself." The others snicker and I glower at them. "Not like that!! And _I'm_ the hentai?"

Vash finally manages to pull it back together, his bottom lips quivering as he asks, "Does that mean you don't love me anymore?"

Whoa, whoa! What? "Vash! Don't even think that! Just because I've been obsessing over your brother lately doesn't mean I love _you_ any less."

"Damn!" swear evilVash and Knives. Come to think of it, introducing them is probably a bad idea.

The other fictive sniffles, "Do you mean that?"

I smile warmly, reaching out the take his hand, "Of course. You're my all time favorite hero, nothing is going to change that."

He brightens visibly, momentarily forgetting his complaints.

The evilVash raises an eyebrow, "Isn't that what you said about Richard, and Damian, and Lucky, and Luke, and Paris, and Simon, and Xander, and Jenret, and . . ."

"You really suck, you know that?"

"Not my fault. Just the way destiny has written me."

"Don't you like any female characters?" growls the Meryl.

"I like _you_ don't I?"

"Which is why you've written so much about me," she fires back.

So I said to myself, "Why not make her self-aware? Great idea, Cadence!" What is _wrong_ with me?!?

"I'm working on it!"

Her eyes fix onto a lonely, scuffed, long haired Vash on the fringes of the dancing, "Like you're working on CinderVash?"

I wince, "Okay, okay. But I _am_ thinking about it! I just need to puzzle out the next few lines . . ." She's still staring at the poor Vash.

She shakes her head, "Do you want me to end up like that?"

"Um . . . but you aren't the Meryl in that story." Weak, I know. But it's all I have.

"Does that matter? We Meryls have strict code of solidarity! And I'd like to see at least one us play a part where she isn't attached to one of," she smacks Knives on the chest, "_them_."

For no apparent reason, that reminds Vash of his reason for whining, "Why did you let them sleep together, when you've barely even implied it for us?"

"Maybe because the sex is an intrinsic component of the screwed-up-ness of the relationship and I have trouble even getting you two up to the first kiss?"

Oh dear. That lip is quivering again. Time for compromise, "What if I started working on a nice Vash and Meryl live happily ever after story, right here and now, complete with steamy bed room scenes? Would that be alright?"

I reach into my bag, pulling out a notebook, and take my ever-handy mechanical pencil from my pocket to prove my seriousness. He nods childishly.

"Will you? Really?"

I press my pencil to the paper, rarin' to go, "Of course. Now run along and have fun."

He and the other two scamper off. Well, not really. I doubt Knives has _ever_ scampered. Still, they rejoin the fray. Meryl breaks off to comfort CinderVash while Knives and Vash steal a bottle of sake from a Rai-Dei for some brotherly bonding time. Or, more likely, just to see who can drink who under the table.

Dropping my pencil onto the table, I stretch back into my chair. "Thank God he's gullible."

"You make no fair promises, do you?"

"Well, it's not like he's going to know. The stories don't become reality to them until they're typed up. As long as I claim it's only on hard copy, he'll never know that I haven't written his story."

My Vash salutes me with a pair of fingers, "I knew there was a reason I hadn't killed you."

* * *

notes: I am in fact working on a KnivesxMeryl story which may or may not end up a lemon, depending on whether I die of embarrassment or not and how often the fam wanders into the room whilst I'm rewriting it. Actually, the strange (I mean _strange_) romantic comedy I'm currently writing, and just how limey I make it, should be a good indicator of if I'm capable of doing a lemon. That one should be finished shortly actually, despite not having been mentioned in this story. I also have the Meryl fic mentioned in the works. And I have a title! Ooohh, aaahh. It's quite an accomplishment for me. Now if only I could finish it. Oh and CinderVash. I've been kicking that around since February. But that doesn't mean it's dead. It's far too much fun to write for that. CrazyVash is the Vash from Streams, if anyone ever wanted a visual.

Why do I have half a billion stories to work on?

I'll probably continue this as I get more frustrated with the characters or bored with life or whatever. After all, you want to know how the night ends, don't you? Oh, and I owe undying admiration (not to mention fear) to anyone who can identify where all the boytoy heroes I've obsessed over at various times (as mentioned by evilVash) are from.

Trigun is copyright (c) Yasuhiro Nightow and Young King Ours.

* * *


End file.
